An A to Z of How to Love You
by Filthy Bunny
Summary: <html><head></head>Series of sexy Sam/G drabbles and ficlets I've started. Each one is based on a prompt word, one for each letter of the alphabet. Up now: C for Closer</html>
1. Anticipation

**Anticipation **

* * *

><p>It's a little game they play on the quiet days, a game that – of course – Callen always initiates, loving as he does to toy with Sam, driving him crazy before working hours have even ended. It starts with a calculated gesture – a filthy comment in hushed tones while colleagues are just out of earshot, an innuendo, the highly inappropriate brush of a hand against jeans while passing in a doorway, maybe just a long and oh-so-suggestive look accompanied by a bite of the lower lip. Something that makes Sam flush or splutter into his coffee cup or shift awkwardly in his seat as his train of thought is suddenly hijacked. The earlier in the day, the better. It gives Sam all the more time to simmer in his skin and plot a long and merciless revenge. Back and forth, they tease each other until the day is over and they're finally alone and one can pounce on the other at last. Sometimes the end of the day is too damn far away, or the temptation is too great and one cracks and drags the other into some private, shadowy corner of the compound, grinding his lips and his hips against him as he mutters curses and vows of sweet retribution just as soon as work releases them.<p>

It's no surprise to either of them that the loser is always Sam. Although lately he's been getting better at the game, holding out longer and longer, sometimes even lasting for an hour or more once they're back at his place or Callen's. Feigning boredom or distraction despite the rock-hard ridge in his pants, and Callen, far too competitive for his own good, can do nothing but play along and try to out-wait him.

Tonight, though, it's looking as though Sam may just beat him for the first time.

They're at Sam's place, both hot and tired and as horny as hell but pretending not to be. Callen fired the starting pistol around noon by sending a particularly sordid text message to Sam's phone. They had been in the bullpen with Deeks and Kensi while Nell talked them all through some upgrades to the secure software. Callen had watched his partner from across their desks, taking great satisfaction as he saw Sam's jaw clench and his body momentarily stiffen as he scanned the message. Afterwards he hadn't so much as glanced back at Callen, taking great pains to focus instead on Nell even though he probably wasn't processing a word she said. He had waited a full two hours before retaliating, long enough for Callen to think that maybe his partner really was refusing to play along this time, as he so often threatened.

Now, hours later, Callen sits in Sam's living room drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch, his dick as stiff as a board as he listens to the sounds of water running in the bathroom. Sam has shown uncanny resolve and has prepared dinner, been out for a run – a _run_ – and now he's showering off, with the bathroom door open just a little, no doubt to tempt Callen inside. Callen stubbornly stays put, but he can't prevent his mind from wandering into that steamy bathroom. He pictures the water streaming down Sam's body, over his stomach, Sam's hands soapy as he runs them along the length of his big, beautiful cock...

_Godammit_, this is going beyond the delights of anticipation into torture. Callen glances at the window, his bare foot tapping on the floor, and sees that it's getting dark outside. Sam has never lasted this long before. Maybe he really is tired of playing the game. Maybe he's sick of Callen's twisted need to tug on his strings all the time.

Callen's fingers drum faster. Sam has been in the shower a long time.

He can't sit still any longer, so Callen heads down the hall to the bathroom door, treading softly as he approaches. From the gloomy hallway he peers inside through billowing steam. The shower curtain is pulled back and he can make out Sam's figure in profile, head down, leaning into the spray with one hand braced against the wall. As for his _other_ hand... It's down in front of him, working back and forth along the erection that Callen has been fantasising about all damn day.

_Son of a bitch_. Callen steps closer, and he can make out the expression on Sam's face, lips parted and eyes hooded, off in his own world somewhere as he pleasures himself. As though there isn't another soul in the world. Fire flares in Callen's belly. He can't help but find the view insanely hot, but he's mad, too. So _this_ is Sam's plan? Get himself off so he doesn't have to fight the temptation any more? They never set out rules for this game, but Callen's damn sure this counts as _cheating_.

Now Sam's head tilts back, face in the spray, his mouth opens wider and his eyes close tighter as his hand starts to move faster. Before he knows it, Callen is through the door crossing the room, and he reaches for Sam's arm, the one pumping his dick, before he can finish his little private party.

"What the fuck is this-"

His voice is cut off as Sam turns, his eyes open and bright and alert, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth as he grabs Callen's shirt and drags him into the shower fully clothed, turning him and shoving him into the tiled wall. The spray soaks Callen's chest as Sam traps his wrists against the wall to either side of his head. Sam smiles, licks his lips, and replies with two little words.

"I win."


	2. Bite

**Bite**

* * *

><p><em>Bite me.<em>

Sam has said the phrase often enough, his voice all ragged patience as he responds to the latest taunt to trip off G's smirking lips. G likes the images it conjures up, and if they're alone he'll flash Sam a wicked grin, running the tip of his tongue over his canines.

Now, looking down his body at Sam's form hunched over his, the contrast between dark skin and pale dimmed by the night, he says those same words. His tone transforms their meaning into something different and exotic.

"Bite me," he says, voice hushed in the half-darkness.

Sam breaks off from kissing his way along the inside of G's thigh, and looks up. His eyes are darker than anything else in the room, yet somehow still full of fire.

"Am I being too gentle for you?" he asks. His tongue flicks out against the tendon running from G's groin, eliciting a shiver.

"Yes," G tells him. He knows Sam won't mind. Sam is used to G being a candid and demanding lover. He relishes it.

Sam shifts on the bed and runs his hand over the flesh of G's thigh, still moist from kisses, squeezing gently as though testing a piece of fruit, seeking out the perfect spot to leave his mark. He takes his time, letting G all but squirm in impatience, then suddenly seems to change his mind and flips G over so he's face down on the mattress. He smoothes a hand down G's spine, into the dip of his lower back and onto his ass, then he leans down low and plants his mouth on the top of G's left buttock, almost on his side, close to the hip. It's one of Sam's favourite spots on G's body, one of the first places his hands go to when G undresses. First his tongue flirts against the skin but then his teeth pinch down, slow and hard. G bucks underneath Sam, grabbing a fistful of pillow as the gorgeous lick of pain goes through him, his hard dick grazing the cool sheets.

The pain fades quickly, soon erased by all the other sensations Sam's mouth and hands stir up as they explore G's skin, but the mark will be there for days. G will remember it in the morning as he dresses. He'll pause, twisting to see his reflection in the bedroom mirror and the bruise Sam has left on him: two red-purple crescents, an incomplete loop, like the makings of an 'O' stamped onto his skin.

G smiles into the pillow, and wonders whether Sam will let him place his own mark.


	3. Closer

Callen doesn't look up as the door to the boathouse opens and closes and footsteps echo down the corridor. He leans on the edge of the table in the main room, staring sullenly at the TV screen which shows the empty interrogation room. Thanks to Sam, they have no suspect.

"Don't freeze me out, G," says the figure in the doorway. Callen doesn't turn around. The voice continues. "I know you're pissed."

"Yeah, I'm pissed," Callen snaps. "And you should be too. It could take us days to track down Reeves again. That's if he hasn't already disappeared for good."

"We'll find him, G."

"You think so? It was hard enough when he _didn't _know we were onto him-"

"_G_." Sam's voice is calm, but it cuts across Callen's with ease. "We will _find _him. Now would you please look at me?"

Callen's head turns and he eyes his partner resentfully.

"Come here."

Callen's gaze drops from Sam's face and he turns his back again, rubbing a hand over his close-cropped hair. "I'm not in the mood for this, Sam," he says.

"I don't give a damn. I'll stand here all night if I have to."

"So you're not content with losing our only lead on this case; you want to fight now, too?"

"No, I don't. But it's better than you giving me the cold shoulder for days just because I had the _nerve _to step in and stop you from taking a bullet."

"I would have been fine. Ten more seconds, I would have had Reeves."

"Ten more seconds and I would have had a dead partner."

Callen steps away from the table now and turns to face Sam fully. His eyes are as hard as stone chips and the frustration crackles off him like static.

"Before you start in on me about being over-protective, save your breath," Sam says. "If you'd been where I was standing, and it had been me or Kensi or Deeks about to walk into that store, you would have made the same call. Now, if you want to come over here and punch me, be my guest if it makes you feel any better."

Callen glares back as though he is seriously considering it. Then he forces a deep exhale and relaxes his shoulders a little.

"_Fuck_. We were just so close."

"I know." Sam lets the silence sit for a while before he speaks again. "Come over here, G. Please."

"Why?"

"You know why." Sam lets his gaze flick up towards the ceiling. Callen understands immediately. This room and the corridor beyond are monitored by cameras that feed back to the ops centre, but the doorway itself falls within a blind spot.

Their eyes meet, and Sam's say everything. _Because it was too close today_. _Because I'm still shaken up and I need to hold you_.

Callen walks around the table towards his partner, but stops a few paces away, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

"Closer," Sam says.

Callen pauses, but then takes another step forward.

_"Closer."_

An even smaller step.

Sam smiles at G's stubbornness, a smile that is somehow sad and mad and despairing and hopeful all at once. "Come closer, G."

Callen lingers at arm's reach, and eyes the nearest camera, up in the corner to the right of the door. He's still just within range of the electronic eye. After a moment he inches forward a little more, until their toes are almost touching. Almost.

"Close enough?" Callen asks.

Sam shakes his head. He plants his hands on G's hips and pulls him in suddenly so he stumbles a little, half-falling against Sam to fill the last gap between them. Sam steadies him, sliding one knee between Callen's legs and holding their whole bodies close, thigh to thigh, chest to chest. One hand in the small of G's back, one on his neck, Sam presses his forehead against his lover's and lets his eyes close.

"There may be times when you hate me," he says gently, "But if I have to become your worst enemy to keep you alive, then that's what I'll do."

Sam waits until he feels G's body relax in his arms, and then he kisses him, slow and tender, and that familiar bittersweet feeling rises in G's chest like a sob. He takes his hands from his pockets and slides them up Sam's sides, kissing him back with a force that comes from somewhere in between anger and desperation. Being this in love can be frightening and confusing and, most of the time, a damned inconvenience, but if he's honest with himself, he doesn't think he can live without it.

He presses back against Sam's body, forcing him into the wall. He kisses Sam deeper and harder, all messy, raw passion. He clings tightly to Sam and Sam responds in kind, his hands under G's shirt now and on his skin, dragging over his back and crushing the two of them breathlessly together. It still isn't close enough. The clothes on their backs, even the air in the room and their own skins are barriers to how close they want to be. Sam grabs G's ass, his fingers digging in painfully hard, and G grinds back against him until everything aches, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care if his body is one big bruise in the morning, just as long as Sam doesn't let him go.

Sam starts to pull out of the kiss and untangle himself from G's arms, only to be gripped even tighter.

"Don't," G says. "Don't stop."

"I need to get you home," Sam breathes. As Callen's hips continue to move against him, his breath shakes. "God, I really, _really_need to get you home."

G can't bear to pull away so he speaks against Sam's mouth. "Just how big is this blind spot?"

"You're crazy," Sam replies, but can't stop kissing him again and again. He tears his lips away at last, and now he's pushing Callen away by the waist so he can reach for his belt buckle. "Big enough," he says.


End file.
